


Little Black Dress

by QueenoftheHobbits



Series: Soft Thighs Series [17]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, overweight reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7168193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheHobbits/pseuds/QueenoftheHobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re not sure about the dress you’ve tried on...Bucky has his own opinion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Black Dress

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested by an anon on tumblr: Being insecure about a dress you've tried on in a dressing room, Bucky reassures you that it looks good. 
> 
> {Feel free to suggest ideas for future pieces for this series, anything from soulmate aus to personal experiences}

You hated going shopping for clothes, there was just something so entirely uncomfortable about looking for clothes. You always felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, felt your shoulders tense because you felt like everyone was judging you, judging the clothes you looked at, and the clothes you tried on and didn’t fit in, and the clothes you bought. It was hell, even more so if you brought someone with you, so you tended not to. Internet shopping was much less stressful you found.

But living with the Avengers meant that people sometimes followed you or asked to come along because they needed something. That had happened today; Bucky had wanted to get some new shirts...mostly because his had been systematically destroyed by Sam and Tony through various pranks, many of them were incredibly tight now after having been washed incorrectly (not that you were complaining because tight shirts on Bucky Barnes were amazing and led to you having a million pleasant dreams and also getting very distracted...although that had led to you accidentally breaking stuff and hurting yourself on multiple occasions) so he’d decided to come along with you shopping...and you’d left him to do his own shopping while you went to do yours. You figured he’d just wait somewhere public for you until you were done. 

But you weren’t sure when you were ever going to be done because Tony had arranged this stupid press conference for some positive media coverage and you had to come, but you had to find a dress, but you needed to find one you liked. That wasn’t easy when you spent your life trying to cover up your large thighs, or the size of your arms, or the way your body had rolls and dips and curves in awkward places. You hated trying on dress, after dress, after dress, critically staring at every flaw. Sometimes it was easy, that dress was a no, that dress was a definitely no...and then you were left with this last dress and you weren’t sure if you hated it but you weren’t sure you liked it either. 

It was black, a colour that had become typical of formal events really, not the worst nor best colour in the world. But it clung to you in all the wrong places, or what you saw as the wrong places. It showed the roundness of your stomach, it accentuated the rolls of fat at your waist near your back, it showed the size of your arms, and the width of your hips and the little dip where your hips breached out further...and for you it showed everything you’d ever been told was wrong and should be covered up, everything you had always tried to cover up. 

As you twisted and turned in the small dressing room, looking from every angle, you tried to see the positives. The way it flattered your hips, your breasts, your butt, you tried to get the positives to outweigh what you saw as negatives because surely everyone else saw them that way too...but you struggled to do so. The negatives seemed to tower over the positives. You felt like crying, frustrated because this was the last dress and it was better than the others and you still couldn’t be happy could you? 

“Y/N, you in there?” You were surprised to hear Bucky’s voice from the other side of the door, but called back a yes. He, oblivious to how you were feeling, began talking about how he’d got what he needed and so forth, but your silence tipped him off. Bucky never knew you to be completely quiet like that when he talked to you. You usually tried your best to hold a conversation with him since he rarely talked much these days, you saw him as important and vice versa and it meant you didn’t shut down like this. But you were silent from the other side of the dressing room door.

Instead you were twisting and turning again, trying to make yourself happy with that little black dress and the way you looked in it. “Y/N...doll, are you okay?” You stopped, glancing at the door that separated the two of you and then back to the image of you in that dress that was staring back at you from the mirror. 

“I look horrible.” You called out across the barrier, did you want to cry? Did you want to run away and just leave? Did you want to avoid this damned press conference and ignore that any of this had ever happened? Yes, yes, and yes.

“Let me see.” You looked back at the door and then back to yourself and took a deep breath, smoothing out the skirt of the rest before opening the door. You awkwardly stood in the door way, one arm wrapped around your stomach.

Bucky stared and he stared and he stared, his mouth open, his eyes flitting over your whole body and the way the dress clung to you, at how wonderful you looked in it. But to you the stare was one of shock, horror, all manner of bad things because why would it be anything else?

“I know...I look disgusting.” You sighed heavily, your arm falling by your side. A tear started to fall and you wiped it away quickly because you didn’t want Bucky to see you crying over something like this. It was silly...

The man himself stepped forward, leaning down hands reached out to hold your face gently. He looked like his heart was breaking...and it was...because you couldn’t think that, you couldn’t think that at all, “No...no..no, you don’t, doll...god, you look amazing.” The thumbs gently wiped away the tears that were still falling, and you weren’t sure if you believed him despite the heat rushing to your face, despite the fact Bucky didn’t dish out compliments willy nilly. 

“You’re just saying that, I look like someone tried to stuff a whale in a dress.” You pulled back from him, gesturing at yourself, at your body, at the bumps, lumps, and curves. At the things he didn’t see a problem with, that there wasn’t a problem with...at the things he thought made you just as attractive as any other women he’d ever seen if not more...

Anger flashed in his eyes, and you took a step back from those now fiery blue eyes, hands came back to you holding you firmly by the shoulders, “Don’t you ever say that about yourself. You’re beautiful. So what if you’re bigger than other women? What the fuck does that matter? You look great in that dress. You look gorgeous and you’ll always look great. God, you’re so beautiful. Do you seriously not see how beautiful you are, doll?” You looked at him, at the earnest in his eyes, felt the sure grip on your shoulders, and you felt a shift in yourself. You glanced back at the mirror, at the reflection of both of you...and...and maybe he was right. 

“You really mean that? You really...you really think i’m beautiful?” You didn’t looked at him, turning your head fully to look at your reflection. Noting that the tightness around your torso showed off your full figure, that the lumps were cute and soft and not ugly, that your legs looked pretty good in this dress and would probably look even better in a good pair of shoes...noted the way you looked pretty nice despite being in a shitty dressing room stall with terrible lighting. 

“I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t. You have no idea what you do to me...you have no idea how beautiful you are and it’s a damn shame.” It was, Bucky didn’t care if you knew how he felt, but he cared about how you felt about yourself. You should be able to see how beautiful you are, to be walking past a mirror and smile...you shouldn’t be standing in a dressing room crying over a dress you look great in because you don’t think you do. 

“Bucky...” You turned your eyes away from your reflection and back to the man in front of you, your hands moving up to hold his that were still on your shoulders. 

“Mmm?”

“I...I think i’m going to get the dress.” You smiled at him, hesitant and still unsure, but you felt like this was a good idea, and...and a little more confidence building and you knew you’d be ready to strut into the press conference in that little black dress.

“I think that’s a great idea.” You pushed him from the room and found yourself taking a last glance at the dress, your resolve stiffened. You were getting this dress. 


End file.
